Dark Shores

by Danielle L. Jensen

  “Maybe it was!” His anger was back, and he was on his feet, beads of sweat forming on his brow. “Only they had the right to make the decision of whether to live or die themselves—not to have it forced upon them.”

  “You forced it upon them,” she spit, storming across the tent until she was in his face. “If you hadn’t gone there and forced the Empire down their throats, maybe all those people would be alive.”

  “You think that was my choice?” His shoulders were shaking, face white as a sheet. “Those were my orders. The Senate did not ask my opinion on whether Chersome should be conquered. They only told me to see it done in the most expedient way possible. To have taxes flowing before the year was out.”

  “You didn’t have to do it.” Even as she said the words, she knew it wasn’t so simple.

  He stared at her unblinking for a dozen heartbeats, then said, “You’re right. I could’ve said no. And they’d have strung me up on the gallows and selected someone else from the ranks who understood that to be in the legions means obedience. And if by some strange stroke of fate, my legion chose to follow me, chose to fight back, the Empire would have sent six more to crush us. And when they were finished, they’d have moved on to Chersome.”

  Every word seemed torn from his chest. “We are not free, Teriana. We were never asked whether this was the life we wanted to live. We were merely given the choice: obey or die, and more often than not, obeying means dying.

  “This legion is my life, the men my brothers. The Senate believes that they gave me this legion as a tool to enact the Empire’s will, but I say I’ve been given to the legion as a tool to protect the lives of the men within it. And I will always make the decision that protects them.”

  And Teriana understood. How could she not, when she’d fed up an entire half a world to the Empire in order to protect her crew? Her people? She was no better. No better at all.

  “I agreed to this mission because it was a way to escape, for me and for my men,” he said. “Back east, we must go where the Senate tells us to go. Do what the Senate tells us to do. But here, I am in control.” His breathing was rapid, ragged. “It could take a year to find xenthier paths. Five. Ten. And in that time, I decide what we’ll do here, and as much as you might think otherwise, conquest isn’t what I want.”

  “Then don’t look for the paths,” she whispered. “Don’t give the Senate back its power.”

  “I’d do it gladly if not for the fact that you would pay the price.” His face was deathly pale. “My freedom at the expense of yours. My men’s freedom at the expense of your captured people.”

  And her people’s freedom at the expense of the West. “Go back,” she pleaded. “Load your men onto your ships and I’ll take you back.”

  “To go back, I have to be defeated,” he said, “And that means sending my men to be slaughtered.” Dragging in a breath, he said, “I’m never going back. I can’t.”

  He was ill with something, but she couldn’t think about that. Not when he’d put her in this impossible position of having to choose. “Why did you do this to me?” she demanded, it taking all her control not to scream the words at him. “Why didn’t you just let Cassius kill me?”

  Horns blasted in the distance, long and mournful, and Marcus turned his head in their direction, closing his eyes for a heartbeat before looking back to her. “Do you know why I stopped the questioner from torturing you?” He laughed, but it turned into a cough. “Do you know why I interfered?”

  He swayed on his feet, and Teriana eyed him with alarm. His breathing was coming in tiny little gasps, and he looked ready to collapse. “Marcus—”

  “Because I couldn’t handle your screams,” he choked out, panic rising in his eyes. “I didn’t even know you, and I couldn’t watch them hurt you. But instead of saving you, I damned you.”

  Then he collapsed.

  Teriana caught him around the waist, but his weight pulled them to the tent floor. “Marcus, what’s wrong?”

  The only answer was the desperate wheeze of air.

  “I’ll get help.” She settled his head against the ground, but before she could get up, his hand closed around her wrist.

  “They. Can’t. Know.” There was panic in his eyes. “Get. Amarin.”

  “Okay.” She pulled free, then stumbled out the entrance. There were legionnaires in a perimeter around the command tent, close enough to stand guard without overhearing their commander’s conversations. Quintus and Miki were mercifully absent. “Marcus doesn’t want to be disturbed,” she told them. “But he wants Amarin for something.”

  “Went that way,” one of them replied, leaning on the butt of his spear.

  Teriana scuttled in the direction he’d pointed, walking as swiftly as possible without running. Whatever was wrong with Marcus, he didn’t want anyone to know, and rushing around would only draw attention. Relief flooded her as she caught sight of the tall servant, and she shouted his name. Hurrying up to him, she whispered, “There’s something wrong with Marcus. He can’t breathe properly. Told me to find you.”

  Amarin blanched, and he glanced at the fading sunset. Teriana did as well and knew the battle was almost ready to begin. “Find Servius or Felix,” he said, gripping her arms hard enough to leave bruises. “None but them.”

  “I understand,” she said, but he didn’t let go.

  “None but them,” he repeated. “Or I’ll cut your heart out myself, you hear?”

  She ran.

  33

  TERIANA

  Despite the heat and humidity, Teriana’s hands felt like ice as she made her way through the ranks of legionnaires, moving toward the knot of young commanders watching the proceedings, Ereni with them, along with two of her warriors. It occurred to her that some of those she passed would die today. That they were going to fight a battle and anything could happen.

  Yet that seemed a distant concern compared to Marcus. It was like some invisible hand had been choking him, slowly cutting off the air to his lungs. Please don’t let him die, she silently prayed. Whereas before all she’d cared about was her bargain with him, now something else was digging little icy splinters into her heart: the fear of losing him.

  “Straighten up those ranks,” Servius bellowed, and Teriana smiled at the soldiers standing guard over the officers before ducking between them. Servius was still shouting orders, so she reluctantly approached Felix, who eyed her sourly.

  Stepping close, she murmured, “Amarin sent me. There’s something wrong with Marcus.”

  Felix sucked in a breath, and she knew that whatever it was afflicting the legatus, this wasn’t the first time it had happened. And that it was every bit as bad as she feared.

  “Servius,” he said, his tone betraying nothing. “Legatus wants a quick word.”

  The big legionnaire nodded, and Teriana turned, nearly colliding with Titus.

  “What’s this about?” he asked.

  She shrugged and tried to go around him. “He didn’t say.”

  Titus stepped into her path. “If there’s been a change of strategy, I should be part of the discussion. As should the imperatrix.”

  A sly move on his part, as while he couldn’t argue with Marcus’s officers, Ereni most certainly could.

  Ereni’s eyes flicked their direction, drawn by the word she knew to be the Cel translation of her title. “You know how particular he is,” Teriana said to her. “He probably just wants to ensure all the banners are blowing the right way in the wind.”

  The imperatrix frowned, then shrugged. She’d wanted to be on the field with her warriors, and it had taken some convincing on Marcus’s part to convince her to stay behind the lines. Nothing short of the truth would take her back to the command tent.

  “No changes, sir,” Felix interjected, shoving Teriana between the shoulder blades to get her past the other commander. “He likely has a last few questions that need answering.”

  “I should be there.”

  “Men are moving into position,�
� Servius said. “Command is yours and the imperatrix’s until we return, sir.”

  There wasn’t much Titus could say to that, and they knew it. Neither Servius nor Felix said anything until they were out of earshot; then the latter demanded, “What did you do?”

  “Nothing,” she said, wishing he would shut up. That they’d walk faster. Hoping that one of them would know what to do when they got back to the tent. Praying that Marcus was still alive when they did. Her heart hitched as she remembered his words to her: I couldn’t watch them hurt you.

  “His attacks don’t just happen,” Felix snapped. “What did you say? What did you do?”

  Teriana tried to swallow, but her throat tightened. “I asked about Chersome.”

  Felix’s glare dripped with hate. “If he dies, I’m personally going to—”

  “Shut up, Felix,” Servius said. “Threatening her isn’t going to do him any good.” He nodded as the guards surrounding the tent saluted, then pushed his way inside.

  Amarin had dragged Marcus to the rear of the tent behind the table, so she heard Marcus before she saw him. A gasping, wheezing sound that made her own chest tighten. She hung back while the two soldiers flanked the table. “How bad?” Servius asked.

  “Worse than in Celendrial,” Amarin said. “We’re going to have to put in the tube.”

  “Shit. Shit!” Felix swore. “Titus will have the men marching. Marcus needs to be out there now.”

  Amarin said something Teriana couldn’t make out, and she edged her way around until she could see. And instantly wished she hadn’t.

  Marcus’s eyes were open but unseeing, his skin a faintly bluish hue. His legs were moving, heels digging into the ground, muscles straining as he unconsciously fought against Servius, who had his shoulders pinned to the ground. Felix was prying open his jaw, but he looked up at her approach, gaze full of accusation. This is your fault.

  The room swam, and Teriana gripped the edge of the table for support. It didn’t seem like him. Not the brilliant, unshakable, resolute Marcus who never showed a moment of weakness. Except when you pushed him! she snarled at herself. Made him relive his nightmares, and screamed in his face, blaming him for the deaths of thousands. The enslavement of thousands. And he never had a choice.

  Amarin had a narrow tube in his hand, and he muttered at the two officers to hold their commander steady.

  “What are you doing to him?”

  “Piss off, Teriana!” Felix snarled, but Servius shook his head.

  “We can’t stay with him. We need her.”

  “If we don’t get this in now, he’s done,” Amarin snapped, interrupting the pair.

  “Okay, okay,” Servius muttered, and his massive arms strained. Felix’s wrists trembled as he held Marcus’s head steady, a piece of wood stuck between his teeth. Amarin slipped the tube into the legatus’s throat, and Teriana turned her head, unable to watch but unable to block out the sounds of him gagging and choking, of the men swearing as they tried to save his life.

  While she stood there and did nothing.

  “It’s in,” Amarin said, and Teriana exhaled the breath of air she hadn’t known she was holding. Nails digging into the table’s surface, she turned to watch Amarin holding the slender tube in place while Servius and Felix unfastened Marcus’s cloak, pulling it out from under him.

  Felix knelt holding the cloth, face pale. “I can’t.”

  “You have to,” Servius said. “You two are the same size, and with his helmet on, no one is going to notice in the dark.”

  Horns blared, and in the distance Teriana picked up the sound of marching feet.

  “We’re out of time,” Servius said, shaking his friend’s shoulders. “Already Titus and Ereni will be wondering about the delay. Marcus needs to be on the field, and since he can’t be, you have to do it for him.”

  Felix shook his head. “I don’t want to leave him. Not like this. Not with her.”

  His spite was like a slap to the face, but Teriana kept her mouth shut. She and Felix would have it out one of these days, but today was not that day.

  “If you don’t, he’s a dead man!” Servius snarled, shoving the smaller man back so that he slammed into a stool. “If you don’t, the legion will find out. Titus will find out. You know what that means.”

  As answer, Felix unfastened his own cloak, replacing it with Marcus’s elaborate one, the golden dragon glittering in the lamplight. Watching them. Then he jammed Marcus’s helmet down on his head, the nose and cheek guards covering enough of his face that he could easily pass for the other man.

  The horns sounded again, and Teriana flinched as Servius took her by the shoulders, expression intent. “You know what will happen if this gets out?”

  “I do.” She lifted her chin. “I won’t let it.” To Felix, she said, “I’ll keep him safe.” He only ignored her, making his way to the entrance of the tent, Servius swiftly following.

  “Servius,” she called, and he turned his head. “Try not to lose too badly.”

  He grinned, and then they were gone.

  The whistle of Marcus’s breathing through the tube demanded her attention, and Teriana closed the distance between them, dropping to her knees. Amarin held his head steady, one hand gripping the narrow tube protruding from his lips. His color was not as bad as it had been, but he remained unconscious, and when she took his hand it was icy to the touch.

  “How long will it last?” she asked Amarin, wrapping her other hand around Marcus’s as though keeping his fingers warm might somehow make a difference.

  The servant’s face was grim, and he shook his head. “It should’ve begun to ease by now. It’s been years since a fit has taken him this thoroughly.”

  Her chest tightened, her pulse deafeningly loud in her ears. “But it will ease?”

  “For all our sakes, I hope so.” He unbuckled the rest of Marcus’s armor, carefully easing it off, along with his weapons. “He isn’t getting enough air, and if it lasts much longer…”

  She knew what he meant—had seen sailors brought back from drowning without a marked healer’s intervention and their minds were never the same. A tear dripped off her nose and landed on his cheek, and she wiped it away, furious at herself. For the part she’d played in him lying here helpless, and for caring that he was.

  Amarin rested one ear against Marcus’s chest, listened, then pulled away, exhaling softly as he shook his head.

  “No,” Teriana snapped, unwilling to concede without a fight. “I’m going to get help.”

  She tried to scramble to her feet, but Amarin caught her arm. “There is nothing anyone can do, and he won’t thank you if you let his secret out.”

  “Let me go!” She heaved, but the slender man was stronger than he looked. “The Seventh take you!” Balling her fist, she swung, catching him in the face. His grip loosened, and she tore away, snatching up one of Marcus’s knives and running to the entrance before slowing her pace so as not to alarm the guards watching over the tent and its precious contents.

  The camp was quiet and empty, no one questioning when she strode in the direction of the latrines. She waited until she was out of sight of the men guarding the command tent, then ran silently between the rows of tents until she reached the wall. She clambered up, her fingers and toes unconsciously finding holds as she searched the darkness for the guards, knowing the variations in their patrols like the back of her hand.

  A shadow moved, and she dropped to the base of the wall, waiting, waiting, and then she ran, not caring if they heard. It was too dark for any of them to hit her with a crossbow, and they’d only pursue her so far into the jungle.

  Shouts of alarm filled the air behind her, but they only made her run faster, branches lashing against her arms and face as she tore through, running in the general direction of the town. She tripped and fell, was back on her feet in an instant, ignoring the pain in her body. I will not let him die. I will not let him die.

  Ducking behind a tree, she crouched, listening to
the sounds of her pursuers. Something crawled across her hand, but she forced herself to stay still, praying that whatever it was wouldn’t bite.

  One of the legionnaires passed her hiding spot, blade in hand. His steps were silent, the darkness not seeming to hamper him. He paused, and she held her breath, convinced he’d hear her heart beating. Go back, go back, she silently chanted, her shoulders slumping when he shook his head and retreated toward camp.

  She waited until he was out of earshot, then crept onward, praying to Lern not to let her run afoul of a snake or worse. The air was filled with the drone of insects, and above her things moved in the canopy. The moon and stars were obscured by the dense foliage, and she relied on her sense of the sea, the distant roar of the waves, to keep from losing her direction. Still, it was no small amount of relief when she stumbled onto the narrow path leading into the town, the warriors standing at the gate admitting her without question, her face well known to them.

  Breaking into a run, she wove between the pilings holding up the buildings, making her way in the direction of the healer’s home. Shoving in the door, she found Caradoc readying supplies for the injured warriors who’d be brought to him. “I need your help,” she blurted out, then clenched her teeth together.

  Because what sort of help could she expect him to give? She’d warned him not to let the Cel see what his mark allowed him to do, and if she brought him back to camp to help Marcus there would be no hiding it. Marcus would know, and there was no chance—none at all—of him not using marked healers to help his men. The healers were an advantage the West had over the Cel. Did she dare give it up to save one life?

  It was a life she needed. Her deal was with Marcus, and her mum, her crew, and her people depended on her seeing this through. Except Teriana knew that wasn’t the reason she was here.

  Whose side are you on?

  The Cel were the enemy. And as much as her opinions of him might have changed, Marcus was their leader. He was the enemy. Her enemy.